My Heart in Your Hands
by LovelyFarron
Summary: Theirs was a complex relationship. It was never the same one minute to the next, always changing, always in flux, never at a standstill. Yet there had always been an underlying affection, something that had only grown with each alteration. Love.


Anime/manga: Bleach

Pairing: Ichigo/Rukia

Genre: Romance/Drama

Rating: T

My Heart in Your Hands

Theirs was a complex relationship. It was never the same one minute to the next, always changing, always in flux, never at a standstill. It was maddening and comforting; this constant state of confusion and new feelings might have driven others insane but they reveled in it to some degree, thrived in it even. They were anything but normal—in their conversations, their actions, their thoughts. No one could quite understand what it was they had and they didn't really either sometimes but it didn't matter to them. In the end they had each other; when the world went to hell in a hand basket they could count on the other one to be there and watch their back, supporting and encouraging, protecting and fighting.

Rukia Kuchiki's coal black eyes fluttered open, a cool breeze making her short hair dance around her face. She was a striking sight standing there on the grassy hill where her childhood friends rested; the snowy whiteness of her gloves and pale skin practically glowed in the bright light of the sun as her dark shinigami robes absorbed its warm rays. She was tiny and fragile looking yet something about her screamed dangerous at the same time. It was in the way she stood, the way she held herself, the way her head was held high. Immense power and an unrelenting will were housed inside her tiny frame, her diminutive size not betraying her skill and prowess in battle.

She was not on that hill to battle though, but there to take a breath and relax in the quiet. After the chaos that had been her life for the past three years it was nice to just get away and simply _be_. In her hundred plus years of being dead, nothing had compared to the chaos contained in the last few weeks and she was glad that for the time being everything was peaceful. Everything except for her own heart, that was.

She let out a breath and closed her eyes, her thoughts focused on the man standing a few feet behind her. Why he was there she didn't know while knowing at the same time and it was a strange paradox, one that she had learned to accept when it came to him. Knowing things while not knowing them at the same time…that's how it always was.

His spiritual pressure—something he'd never learned how to dampen or conceal in the slightest—was a warm presence, touching her and wrapping her in its embrace. It was protective, kind, understanding, caring, and a bunch of other things she couldn't name. None of the things were negative, although they were intense and heating her up more than the sun shining brightly above.

He had just appeared there—without warning or notice as was his custom—and was calmly waiting for her to get done with whatever it was she was doing. She wasn't even sure what it was she had gone there to do anymore; her reasoning and sense of purpose had been scattered to the wind the second he had arrived and there was no hope of getting them back.

She'd had a lot on her mind those days. The war with the Quincy had resulted in the deaths of many of her friends and comrades. Victory had come but at a horrible cost and was frustrating when one considered how hard they had all grinded after the battle with Aizen.

They hadn't wanted to rely solely on _him_ again; it wasn't right that they put so much pressure on him, wasn't right that they had to have him rescue them time and time again. He didn't mind of course. But she did.

She minded because in the back of her mind, in some deep dark corner of her soul, she still blamed herself for twisting his fate. The angry, remorseful child inside still beat her with old grievances and regrets, reminding her that if it wasn't for her interference that he would still be living a normal life, unburdened with the power that came with being a shinigami. Of course she knew that he didn't feel that way at all and even felt indebted to her for it, but that still didn't stop the little demons from coming out to play and blaming her for all the burdens he'd willingly shouldered throughout the years.

He was the cause of this inner agony whether he knew it or not. Perhaps the tiny bit of guilt that still plagued her would vanish should he go away, but she knew that she could never take it should he leave. She couldn't not see him again, couldn't tear their souls apart. They were bound by some unnatural force and she would have it no other way, despite the inner torment that he sometimes caused her.

It wasn't his fault really either, but sometimes…sometimes…

…sometimes she wondered if she hated him.

He was unlike any man she'd met before. It was true that he had many similarities in common with her beloved late mentor—mannerisms, looks, attitude—but still…he was someone—some_thing_—else entirely, a walking mass of complexes. He was straightforward and honest while at the same time being quiet and relentless. His actions never contradicted his words—which was saying something in a world full of liars and hypocrites—and was intelligent and studious, able to figure things out on his own even though his attitude suggested that he was some insolent delinquent.

He was full of surprises, of mystery, always showing a new side of himself to her. And yet…she knew everything there was to know about him, even before he showed her.

Letting out a humming noise, Rukia raised her head to the sky with her eyes still closed, focusing on his presence and his alone, blocking out everything else as her heart began to speed up and her throat began to tighten.

Sometimes she wondered if she hated him.

He was self-sacrificing to the point of ridiculous, though she could completely understand why and related to him in that respect. Still, she hated him for all the sacrifices he'd made for her since the first time they'd met.

She hated him for nearly dying for her not once, not twice, but more times than she could count.

She hated him for how he had sacrificed his time for her, agreeing to help in the beginning of their relationship and then later for going out of his way to understand and get to know the real her.

She hated him for giving up all the time he could have spent with his family and friends in the Living World to chase after her, nearly dying in his attempt to master Bankai before her execution.

She hated how he had stuck out his neck for her when she was hiding out in his house in the beginning and she hated how he had sacrificed just about everything for her—his life, his spirit, _everything._

A slight sound from behind her caught her attention momentarily; no doubt his feet were starting to ache from standing for so long, but she knew that he would stand there till the end of time with her. A small, sad smile tugged her lips up. What had she done to deserve this, to deserve him? What had she done right? Why had she been blessed?

It seemed unfair to the rest of the world, when so many were alone or had lost it all, that she—she! Rukia Kuchiki!—would get a break. And it was why…

…sometimes she wondered if she hated him.

Her hands clenched into fists as she drew them up to her chest, trembling as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She gritted her teeth and shook her head, trying to keep the tears from spilling down her face.

She hated how much blood he had spilled for her. She hated all those times he had fought in her name. She hated him for how he had tried to stand up to her brother that first time, hated how he had stupidly rushed in without a spit of concern as to his own safety. She hated how hard he had fought to get to her in the Soul Society, hated him for going directly against her wishes and fighting opponents that he didn't have the slightest hope of winning against and yet somehow did, each crimson drop that had left his body a symbol of his dedication to her.

Somewhere in the distance a bird chirped but she didn't hear it. She was focused instead on her own breathing, trying to quell the raging feelings within her body. It was all coming to a head, every single little thing. Every thought she had been denying, every emotion she hadn't let herself acknowledge, all the hidden meanings behind her words and actions…

He always managed to bring out the best and the worst in her, and he didn't even have to say a single thing…

Sometimes she wondered if she hated him.

She hated how he smiled at her. It didn't matter which smile he gave her—cocky, arrogant, smug, sheepish, happy, angry—she hated them all. They made her heart do funny things in her chest and made her feel things that she had thought she had locked away for all eternity, never to feel again.

The smile she hated the most, however, was the unguarded smile that she'd only seen him use around her. She hated the unguarded smile the most because it was vulnerable and trusting and just so _him_ that it made her insides twist up into knots and made her feel as if the earth had dropped out from beneath her and that only two people in the world existed—him and her.

Rukia faintly became aware of something shaking and realized with a start that it was her own body. Her legs were starting to grow weary and her mind was screaming for rest, but she refused to move. She refused to turn around and stare into his face because she wasn't sure what she'd do or what she'd feel or what conclusion she'd come to about them and the craziness that they were.

Sometimes she wondered if she hated him.

He had never tried to smother her or take away what it was that made her uniquely her. He wasn't like the Kuchiki nobles. He wasn't like her fellow vice-captains. He wasn't like the captains. He wasn't like Renji. He wasn't like her brother. He wasn't like anyone she'd ever met before.

She didn't have to be someone else around him, didn't have to put on airs or pretend. He didn't control her in that respect and she hated him for that. After a life spent pleasing others and doing the right thing at the right time—or at least trying to—she hated that he never once tried to take control of her and mold her into something that he expected her to be.

He wanted her to be her and her alone, wanted her to express herself and cry and laugh and draw and just simply be. He had seen her ugly side, had dealt with her darkness, and hadn't run away. He had looked her in the eye on her blackest day and refused to give up, refused to leave her for dead. He made her feel like a person, a person worth cherishing, a person worth saving, a person worth dying for and she h—

She frowned, suddenly unable to complete her thought. She was mislabeling something crucial; she was calling something the wrong—

_Love._

_It's not hate. It's not…hate. It's…_

_Love._

Her eyes snapped open in shock as a thrill ran from her head down to her toes, electrifying her where she stood. She became instantly aware of her surroundings, of the birds and insects filling the world around her, of the dazzling sun in the sky, of the vivid green of the grass upon which she stood, of her breathing, of his sighing.

Her trembling increased tenfold and she could feel his concerned eyes boring into her. He no doubt wanted to comfort her but knew that she was in the process of a very important revelation and would come to him when she was ready.

He was always like that, always waiting, never pushing. And she loved him for it.

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She was overcome with passion and didn't know what to do with it.

It had never been hate that she had felt. It had always been love. She had always known it and yet she hadn't and it was all so ludicrous that she wanted to do something but what that something was she didn't know.

She had never hated him for his sacrifices, for his devotion. Sure, he made her mad on occasion with his recklessness but she still loved him. God, did she love him. His eyes, his hair, his hands, his soul…every single thing. She loved him so much she physically ached.

It was a simple admission really, a simple solution, a simple answer. Everything was simple in their complex relationship and somewhere down the line he had figured it out and she had too but they had both been too stubborn and not sure how to take that first step and then he had.

It was like some fairytale—the Shinigami and the Quincy/Shinigami/Vizard/Fullbringer/Human. She wanted to chuckle at all that he was because he was a mash up of things, but she loved him for it. She loved the part of him that she was supposed to fear, loved the part of him that was supposed to be her enemy, loved the part of him that was the exact opposite of her. She accepted him for who he was, loved him despite his flaws.

He was far from perfect and so was she but together they managed to make a decent, complete being.

Words didn't need to be spoken between them. When he had had his own revelation she had felt it then, just as surely as he felt hers now. But she wanted to say something, wanted to verbally express what she was feeling, just to see if she could. She had never tried before and he was the only one that would ever make her feel this way and she didn't want to take any second with him for granted. If she didn't say it now, she never would.

She took in a deep breath, rallying her courage and stilling her racing mind.

"Ichigo."

There was a second's delay before he responded. "Yeah?"

"My heart...is in your hands."

She could practically hear the smile in his voice. "I know."

A smile washed across her face and she suddenly felt lighter than she had in years. Turning around, she crossed her arms over her chest, her eyebrows furrowing together in an attempt to appear annoyed. He was grinning like an idiot, a smug, self-satisfied look on his face but she knew that deep down he was glad that their hearts were connecting once again.

"Don't let my brother see you grinning like that you fool," she reprimanded, trying to appear stern. "He'll get suspicious."

Ichigo shrugged. "Well, he's bound to find out eventually."

"And you're willing to let the smile on your face be the thing that gives it away because…?"

Ichigo grimaced and paled slightly. "Ah…Rukia…you'll talk to him for me, won't you?"

"What? Are you a man or aren't you?" Rukia teased, eyes sparkling with glee. Things were sliding back into place, their normal routine returning despite the fact that things would never be the same. Then again, they never were.

"Hey!" Ichigo shot back, his eyes filled with merriment too. "I'm plenty manly! I just don't have a death wish, that's all."

"Could have fooled me."

"What's that?"

Rukia just laughed and walked up to him, putting her hands on his chest. "Come on, shinigami. I'm going back."

"I'm not a shinigami," Ichigo said, looking down at her fondly as he placed his hands over hers. "I am Kurosaki Ichigo."

Theirs was a complex relationship. It was never the same one minute to the next, always changing, always in flux, never at a standstill. Yet there had always been an underlying affection, something that had only grown with each alteration.

Love.


End file.
